Her mother sat silent--too tender, I wis, Of the smile her dead father smiled dying to kiss: But the boy started up pale with tears, pa.s.sion-wrought-- "O wicked fair sister, the hills utter nought!

If he cometh, who told thee?"

XX.

"I know by the hills," she resumed calm and clear, "By the beauty upon them, that HE is anear: Did they ever look _so_ since he bade me adieu?

Oh, love in the waking, sweet brother, is true, As Saint Agnes in sleeping!"

XXI.

Half-ashamed and half-softened the boy did not speak, And the blush met the lashes which fell on his cheek: She bowed down to kiss him: dear saints, did he see Or feel on her bosom the BROWN ROSARY, That he shrank away weeping?

SECOND PART.

_A bed._ ONORA, _sleeping._ Angels, _but not near._

_First Angel._

Must we stand so far, and she So very fair?

_Second Angel._

As bodies be.

_First Angel._

And she so mild?

_Second Angel._

As spirits when They meeken, not to G.o.d, but men.

_First Angel._

And she so young, that I who bring Good dreams for saintly children, might Mistake that small soft face to-night, And fetch her such a blessed thing That at her waking she would weep For childhood lost anew in sleep.

How hath she sinned?

_Second Angel._

In bartering love; G.o.d's love for man's.

_First Angel._

We may reprove The world for this, not only her: Let me approach to breathe away This dust o' the heart with holy air.

_Second Angel._

Stand off! She sleeps, and did not pray.

_First Angel._

Did none pray for her?

_Second Angel._

Ay, a child,-- Who never, praying, wept before: While, in a mother undefiled, Prayer goeth on in sleep, as true And pauseless as the pulses do.

_First Angel._

Then I approach.

_Second Angel._

It is not WILLED.

_First Angel._

One word: is she redeemed?

_Second Angel._

No more!

The place is filled. [Angels _vanish_

_Evil Spirit (in a Nun's garb by the bed)._

Forbear that dream--forbear that dream! too near to heaven it leaned.

_Onora (in sleep)._

Nay, leave me this--but only this! 't is but a dream, sweet fiend!

_Evil Spirit._

It is a _thought_.

_Onora (in sleep)._

A sleeping thought--most innocent of good: It doth the Devil no harm, sweet fiend! it cannot if it would.

I say in it no holy hymn, I do no holy work, I scarcely hear the sabbath-bell that chimeth from the kirk.

_Evil Spirit._

Forbear that dream--forbear that dream!

_Onora (in sleep)._